


The Mulligan

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A little smutty, AU, F/M, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:37:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulligan - noun a free shot sometimes given a golfer in informal play when the previous shot was poorly played</p><p>'We had a one night stand but it was shit cos we were so drunk, please let me screw you again so I can prove I'm actually good in bed'</p><p>Police officer AU (cos I felt like it :p)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mulligan

**Mulligan -** ** _noun_** **a free shot sometimes given a golfer in informal play when the previous shot was poorly played**

_ ‘We had a one night stand but it was shit cos we were so drunk, please let me screw you again so I can prove I’m actually good in bed’ _

Police officer AU (cos I felt like it :p)

_ Friday, 9:30am _

Killian Jones was staring at her from the other side of the bullpen. Ducking her head back behind the screen of her computer, Emma Swan tried to hide from from his intense glare... just as another wave of nausea hit. She had to fight the urge to pick up the trash can beneath her desk and empty the meager contents of her stomach.

Fuck whoever decided that a Thursday night was a good choice for a team bonding. (And as this was Boston Police Department, team bonding meant drinks at Paddy O’s til the last one was standing.) Thank God she wasn’t on patrol today.

Damn, her head still hurt.

She took a sip of water and grimaced. It was lukewarm and her stomach churned. She peeked behind the side of her monitor.

He was still staring at her.   

 

Across the room, Killian Jones winced as he sipped the thick, tar-like black coffee that was the only thing helping him function that morning. Officer Swan looked barely more lively than he did; dark smudges beneath her eyelids, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that told him she hadn’t had time to wash it that morning.

(Well, he kinda knew that anyway.)

She was refusing to look at him and he wasn’t sure how offended to be. To be honest, he was pretty embarrassed about what had happened last night, so it made sense that she was too.

He just wished he hadn’t fucked up his chances with her.

 

_ A little later that morning... _

Holy crap she was dying.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration but if she didn’t get some caffeine into her system immediately, even her poorly veiled attempts to pretend to be doing paperwork were going to fail. Grabbing her favorite mug (the one that said ‘Swanbucks’ - David had bought it as a nod to her coffee obsession) she pulled her body towards the coffee pot at the rear of the room. 

Her main priority in the journey to it had been making sure she didn’t walk into any other desks on her way so it wasn’t until she reached the small table that held the pot that she saw she was not the only one who needed a caffeine kick.

“Swan,” nodded Officer Jones, his gravelly voice speaking of too much to drink and too little sleep. Emma paused mid-step, before stiffly taking her place beside him, resting her cup on the small table with her hands  beside it.

“Jones,” she nodded, trying really hard not to turn bright red as she stood beside him to wait as he prepared his beverage. Which was especially difficult when their fingers brushed together as he reached for a sweetener at the same time as she did.

“Sorry,” he muttered softly as she quickly recoiled her hand.

A little hot wave of anxiety rolled down her back. She could feel little prickles of sweat forming on her spine.

“T’s fine,” she mumbled.

Apparently, he took that as some kind of sign that she was open to further conversation.

“I’m on my fifth,” he replied, holding up his own cup (it said ‘Hello Sailor’ written in loops of white rope against a navy blue background. That really pissed her off for some reason). “Whatever it takes to undo last night’s damage, eh?”

“Hmmm,” she nodded, turning her eyes enviously back to the coffee pot whilst sending out as strong a vibe as possible that the last thing she wanted to do was talk to him.

“Today’s a struggle for sure,” he continued. 

She stared at her cup as she poured in the sweetener. 

“Yeah.”

“Well I…” he began before taking a step backwards. She didn’t look up. God, she couldn’t look at him.

“‘’Kay,” she muttered, holding her breath until she finally heard him retreat.

With shaking hands - not just from the lack of caffeine - she filled her cup and added the barest splash of milk. As she stirred her drink, Emma squeezed her eyes closed and tried to hold back the memories of the night before. She just was  _ not _ ready to deal with that right now.

Or ever, maybe.

On the other side of the bullpen, Killian frowned and ran a hand through his unwashed hair. He’d barely had time to change clothes and layer on some fresh deodorant before he’d had to run and catch the T into the station. At least his uniform was clean. There really hadn’t been a lot of time for thinking. But damn, he was thinking now.

Sinking back down into his too-hard-to-be-comfortable desk chair, he pressed his face into his hands.

She couldn’t even bloody look at him. The coffee pot meeting had been an opening for him. It was the perfect chance to gauge how she was feeling after the events of last night and she shut him down in one syllable responses.

With a few deep breaths he turned back to the pile of files that he was updating into their computer system. The perfect mindless job that he had saved for today. Too bad all he could think about was the night before.

Her beautiful mouth, kissing him senseless before she pulled him down on her bed and had her wicked way with him. In a manner of speaking, that is...

He could still smell her perfume on his skin.

_ Damn it. _

_ Paddy O’s 12 hours earlier _

The music was loud, but the voices of the 16th precinct were louder, drowning out the melody and lyrics, leaving only a solid beat that Emma found herself swaying along to as Officers Humbert and Nolan talked about the Red Sox. The bar was one of those classic Boston Irish haunts, still frequented by men who considered themselves more Irish than American despite living in the city for generations. Dark wood mingled with aged, sage green leather whilst the walls were lined with antique signs for Irish beers and whiskeys. It was a touch of the old world in the new one.

It had been her old college friend David Nolan who had convinced her to make the move from NYPD to Boston’s force almost a year earlier. David had assured her that she would have a better quality of life here, more free time, better opportunities. And he was right. Everything about her life just felt a little bit less complicated now - just a little slower, a little friendlier, a little more homey. As much as she loved the big apple, Beantown was quickly becoming a real home.

That night, she was in a pretty great mood. The beer was cold. Her work record was second to none - she and her partner Graham Humbert having one of the best arrest rates in the entire city. Making detective might even be just within her grasp. Also it was spring, the winter nip having gone from the air and the thick downy coats a Boston winter required having been relegated to the back of her closet. So she was happy. Not a completely foreign feeling to her, but...rare.

So Emma Swan sipped her beer and let herself relax, blissfully unaware that she had an admirer from across the bar.

Killian Jones felt right at home in the cozy and well-stocked bar. 

While he had only been on U.S. soil for two months, he already knew he had made the right decision. The chance had arisen to transfer from the London Metropolitan Police to the Boston PD unexpectedly, but it had only taken him a couple of days to decide. He’d loved the States since he was a kid; growing up watching American television shows and marveling about a country where anything seemed possible - at least to his eight year old self.

The process had been frighteningly quick. Not six weeks after his contract had been signed, his visa was issued and he was packing up his small apartment and boarding a 747 to Logan airport.

Thankfully, he’d settled in easily. The work was interesting and challenging. And the people? Well, the people he worked with were great. In fact, he intended to use that evening to get to know them better.

His eyes wandered around the crowded bar until they finally found the person he was looking for: Emma Swan. Beautiful, fiery Officer Swan, the woman he’d admired from afar ever since he’d been introduced to her some weeks earlier. They only spoken a couple of times but he had to admit to a crush on her. He’d watched her from afar as she dealt with aggressive detainees and went toe to toe with unwilling DAs. And of course she was stunning. Perhaps now was the perfect chance to get to know her a little better. Straightening his shoulders, he sauntered over to where she stood.

“Officer Swan.”

Emma glanced to her left to find the tall (dark-haired and,  _ of course _ , handsome) figure of Killian Jones sidling up to her.

“Officer Jones,” she smiled into her drink. 

Jones was the new guy in the precinct and she hadn’t had much chance to talk to him, sitting, as they were, on opposite sides of the bullpen. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed his blue eyes and his accent (and the way his ass filled out his tight black uniform pants). She felt a swell of attraction in her chest.

“How are you enjoying our fine East Coast hospitality?”

He smiled: damn he had a dazzling smile, all white teeth, dimples and sparkling eyes.

“All the better now I’m in the company of 16th’s most decorated officer,” he drawled and Emma rolled her eyes, while at the same time she time feeling herself blush deeply.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Jones.”

“Killian,” he insisted, ignoring her comment, “Call me Killian, love.”

_ One drink later _

Slamming his glass down on the bar, he bit back a gasp as the whiskey hit the back of his throat.

“Irish whiskey, finest in the world,” he sighed.

“I thought you were English?” she teased.

“I am, love,” he nodded, biting on his lip whilst he studied her green eyes, “But with Irish roots. Hence the name.”

“Oh,” she smiled. And what a lovely, enticing smile it was.

He may have been just the tiniest bit drunk but he was pretty sure she was flirting with him.

_ Two drinks later _

“So what’s with the way you talk?” she slurred slightly, her vision blurring briefly before once again she was focusing on his eyes and his enviously long lashes.

“The way I talk?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, holding back a hiccup, “You’re all ‘love’ and ‘bloody this’ with that damn accent.”

“I apologize for being British,  _ love. _ ”

“So you should,” she quipped.

And if she liked the way he winked in reply, what harm was there in that?

_ Four - wait - five..? Well, some drinks later. _

“So you’re from London, then?” she smiled, her mouth searching for the small straw in her glass as she kept eye contact with his warm and steady gaze.

With a nod he replied. “Close, Sussex originally. Though I did work for the Met police.”

“Ahh,” she hummed, pleasantly buzzed from the myriad of cocktails she had consumed.

“Have you ever been to the UK?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

“Nope,” she replied. “But I’m getting more and more interested in a trip there.” She let her eyes travel over his body. He certainly wore his jeans and button-up well, she thought, her eyes lingering on the glimpse of black chest hair the neckline revealed.

His brow arched at her flirtation. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I only live a few blocks away. I’d be happy to show you my Big Ben…”

Emma rolled her eyes hard at him, “Oh no, you didn’t--” 

He gave her a moment, chuckling to himself, before clarifying. “Lass, I simply meant, I have a miniature replica clock of Big Ben. Truly! What did you think I was referring to?” 

A devious smile curved at Emma’s lips. She glanced at the back of the bar where the dartboard was hung, currently neglected. “I tell you what. Beat me in a game of darts, and you’re on.”

Killian felt a little jolt of excitement through the fog of liquor.

“Alright.”

_ The next afternoon _

By 5pm, Emma’s eyes were red raw. She was going straight home for a nap, or hell, to sleep for at least 12 hours. God, sleep sounded good. 

“Swan.”

_ Shit _ , it was him.

She bit down hard on her lip and spun around in her chair. Officer Killian Jones was looking rather dishevelled: his stubble ungroomed and his collar askew. She resisted the urge to smirk. There was nothing funny about their current predicament.

“Jones,” she nodded.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Her traitorous eyes looked up and met his. He looked as tired as she felt, and then some.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’ve felt better,” she admitted.

Killian wasn’t sure what to say next. It had seemed like a brilliant idea to come over and talk to her - at least to try and clear the air a little. But now he felt like an idiot.

He took a shaky breath.

“About last night-”

“I think we should forget it happened,” she blurted out, looking up at him with her forehead scrunched and dark circles beneath her eyes even deeper.

“Um, yeah…” he nodded. He blinked as he processed her response.

“I mean, we were drunk-”

“-Aye-”

“-And we work together-”

“-Aye-” he continued to nod.

“And I don’t date people I work with, so…” she sighed. She bit down on her lip. He was still nodding wordlessly.

“I’d best be-” he began, pointing his thumb back across the room.

“I was just about to clock out...”

“Of course,” he replied. “Later, Swan?”

She nodded but didn’t speak.

Oh Lord, if only the ground could open up and swallow her whole. 

As she packed up her desk, her mind kept going back to the night before.

_ Paddy O’s  _

_ Sometime after midnight the evening before _

The dart slid easily into the felt of the board with a soft thud, spearing the red circle. Killian looked up, a cocky expression on his face.

“So Swan…”

Emma ran her tongue along her bottom lip. Her vision was a little fuzzy. But he was undeniably handsome and willing and it had been a long, long time…

She reached forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him close until the toes of their boots tapped against each other.

“My place,” she whispered and his lips curved into a smile.

“If the lady insists,” he replied. 

Her body tingled in anticipation as they walked the few blocks to her apartment. Tonight was certainly one of those times when she was glad she had sacrificed a spacious apartment for one in the heart of the city. The streets were quiet and bathed in the dim illumination of low pollution lighting.

Killian walked beside her, flirtatious banter bouncing between them, as she felt her legs lose their strength and the cool, evening air made the effects of the alcohol all the more apparent. She was damn drunk for sure. But there was no stopping this now.

They reached the stairs to her building just as his world began to spin. His whiskey-addled brain was functioning in only two areas by now - his legs and his crotch. Which seemed fine as it got him up to her doorway, following her snaking hips as she pushed the key into the lock. He was certainly appreciating the tight jeans she wore.

It took Emma numerous attempts to get the key into the little metal receptacle. Finally, the door opened, bringing with it a whoosh of warm air.

And then everything got a little fuzzier…

_ The next evening _

Killian ignored the text from Robin Locksley asking him to go for a pint. His mate had transferred to the States on the same program he had, and it was their long standing Friday ritual from their days back in London, but tonight all he wanted to do was sink into bed. How he still had his eyes open he really wasn’t sure.

Barely in the door, he shucked off his coat, shirt and shoes, running the shower scorching hot as he rolled his head to work out the kinks created in his neck from sitting at his desk all day. 

Wiping away the steam already coating the mirror, he smiled sadly when he saw the thin, red stripes down his chest where she had clawed at him the night before. Then he cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and stepping into the shower and hoping that the hot water would wash away the most painful recollections.

God he hoped she couldn’t remember much about it…

He stayed under the streaming water until his skin was pink from the heat. 

_ He still remembered everything. _

A hot cocoa cupped in her hands, Emma sat curled on her sofa, Netflix playing some movie that she wasn’t following, her eyes drooping. She pulled her woollen plaid blanket over her legs tighter. She should really get to bed, catch up on some sleep… But that bed, even with the freshly laundered sheets, was a stark reminder of just how drunk she had been the night before. She he sighed and remonstrated herself for the hundredth time that day:  _ why did you drink so much? _

And that was why she could never look Killian Jones in the eye again.

_ Emma’s place, around 1am Friday Morning _

Teeth clashed as their two inebriated bodies swayed together; Emma edging them in the general direction of her bedroom whilst she pawed at the buttons of his shirt. Killian, for his part, was concentrating mostly on keeping upright and trying not to bite her lips as they sloppily kissed, the way only two so drunk can.

It was dark so they stumbled forward, the shoes she had left abandoned on the floor that morning causing an obstacle that Killian easily found. His hand grabbed onto her arms and the two crashed to the floor, their heads colliding with a soft groan from each.

_ Umph,  _ he moaned. The collision reverberated in his skull as he landed on the shag-pile rug in front of her bed.

The room was spinning.

Heads bumped again as she pulled him to stand, her limbs suddenly leaden and her balance less steady. 

_ Fuck, she felt sick. _

Trying to focus, she squinted as she snaked her hips and teasingly ran her fingers around the waistband of her jeans before popping the button. She bit on her lip, pushing out her chest as she tried to be her most seductive.

Suddenly, he pulled at the hem of her shirt, trying to tug it over her head as he fell backwards onto the mattress. It snagged on her necklace, the chain digging into the skin of her neck until she hissed. Swatting away his hands, she yanked away the material, her hair wrapping around her face as she tried to give him her best ‘come hither’ face.

And resist the urge to barf.

“Clothes...off,” she slurred, shoving him roughly.

He chuckled drunkenly in reply, far too loudly for the small room.

“Shh,” she slurred as she shimmied out of her jeans. She just about caught his raised eyebrow in response.

_ Why was her room so blurry? _

“Lass,” he sighed, now also free of his clothes.Yet not, she noticed, his underwear. Vaguely she took in his firm body and smattering of chest hair.  _ Hot,  _ her alcohol addled mind decided,  _ very hot. _

“Hush,” she whispered. She pushed back her hair with both hands, reaching eagerly for the cotton barrier. But as she reached, he twisted, her fingers somehow grasping  _ him  _ rather than the fabric and he howled in response.

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Urgh,” he groaned, the pain bringing a moment of clarity as her nails scratched his most sensitive part, before the drunkenness returned. “Allow me,” he replied, peeling off the offending article just as a dart of pain pierced his forehead. 

_ Fuck, _ that whiskey was strong. He needed a paracetamol, like, an hour ago. Shaking his head, he took in the sight before him.

God she was gorgeous, even more than he’d thought-

Emma’s lace-trimmed panties were taunting him, so he rolled over between her legs - with great difficulty - and decided to be a bit sexy and pull them down with his teeth. But just as he went to do so, she raised her knee, socking him in the eye.

“Umph.”

“Crap,” she groaned, letting her head lay back against the pillow. Just in time for the world to start spinning.

Shit, she was a clumsy drunk...

Undeterred, he rubbed his eye and tried again, this time succeeding just as she tossed a condom at him.

“Here,” she yawned.

He let that obvious evidence of her tiredness slide as he fell back on his haunches. He was pretty whacked himself.

But now it was the blasted little packet’s turn to be an arse. 

“Buggering fuck,” he muttered as the packet tore… along with the condom itself. 

“Here,” she repeated, throwing another in his direction, this time hitting him in the face. This time, success.

“Hmm,” he groaned, fully sheathed, leaning over her, watching her wince at his liquor-laden breath.

“Come on,” she demanded. “I thought I was gonna see your Big Ben in action?”

_ Fuck, she was tired. _

_ He got on with it. Sliding inside, his size creating a pleasant burn before he started rocking back and forth. _

_ It was… nice? Fuck, he was pretty big. Not too big… but big enough to feel it... _

_ Shit, she was too drunk.  _ It was getting difficult to feel anything. Her body numb from the liquor.

_ The world was spinning as he began to thrust. _

_ Over. And over. And over again. _

Was she enjoying it?

God, he needed a drink of water. And to sleep. 

But she felt good… hot and tight and wet, but-

The world was spinning as she grasped his sweaty back.

She made the right noises, oohing-and ahhing.

And it kept going on. And on.

He was never going to come. Too fucking drunk.

Crap, he’d have to fake it.

_ She was too drunk. Dead drunk. Every snap of his hips made her need to vomit increase. _

_ Fuck, she was going to have to end this. _

_ “Oh yes,” she panted, “Yes, like that…” _

He was pretty damn sure she was faking. But he was too fucked to care.

“Oh fuck,” he replied, picking up the pace, waiting for her response until he scrunched up his face in the best imitation of an orgasm he could muster, given the circumstances.

She let out a cry.

He waited a second and rolled off.

_ God, she wanted to be sick. _

_ Monday _

It’d been three days since the event and the memory had not faded for Emma one little bit.

Drunken, regrettable sex was bad enough with a stranger. But much,  _ much _ worse when it was with someone you had to face on a daily basis. 

Crap, she wasn’t even sure what it had been like, the memories not sticking, instead only embarrassing flashes remaining. Socking him in the eye. Her lame ass attempt at a strip tease. Faking it.

Oh God. Her blatantly obvious fake orgasm that was right out of the Meg Ryan school of acting.

So that’s why she still avoided him. If she gave it enough time, he’d forget, right?

That day she became ninja-like- diving behind filing cabinets and the oversized potted plants the chief insisted brightened up the bullpen. Purposely taking a late lunch to avoid him at Granny’s Diner (because that was the only place within ten blocks that served decent food  _ and _ they did a PD discount). Even volunteering to help David clear out some dusty evidence lockers when she spotted him glancing at her once too often.

It wasn’t easy, but there was no other option.

The weekend had not improved his mood about what had happened with Officer Swan.

A large part of him said leave it. She was clearly as ill at ease as he was, over what had happened.

Well, what he could remember of it.

It had been a long time since he’d even attempted to have a one night stand and if this experience was anything to go by, then there was good reason for his abstinence. He cursed those whiskeys that it had seemed a really good idea to drink.

Just a couple of months into a new job and he’d made his work environment overly complicated. And screwed up any real chance of actually getting to know Emma better. And he really would have liked to. And maybe that should have been that.

But he was a proactive guy and he did love a challenge.

The photocopier chugged out a neat bundle of stapled papers and she placed them on top of the growing pile with a sigh. One day of avoiding Killian had already exhausted her. Volunteering to copy the month’s statistics for the team meeting was a particular low point. Thankfully, the shameful, paranoid feeling that had haunted her all weekend was starting to fade. 

She had done nothing wrong. She was single. Unattached. She’d just drank way too much.

“Swan, I’ve been thinking it over. And...I don’t think we should forget about it. I know you shut me down when I tried talking to you about our...dalliance--”

“Holy shit!” she cried, knocking the papers into a haphazard pile on the floor of the tiny copy room. Killian Jones stood in the entranceway. She would have said it was a vision but the way the low tenor of his voice made her stomach clench was very, very real.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he began, pausing to help her fix the mess. But the room was too small and instead of expediting the process she found herself drowned in his cologne, and dragged back to that night three days earlier.

“I can do it myself,” she snapped, snatching the leaves of paper from his hand a little too sharply. Silently, she righted the pile and then stood, the hum of the copier the only sound as a prolonged silence stretched between them.

“Look,” he began again, though she refused to look directly at him she could almost imagine the anxious expression on his face, “I feel really shit about what happened, and I don’t really do one nighters-”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down!” Emma slapped his shoulder for emphasis. “What if someone hears you?”

“Ow,” he yelped, “Sorry, love. I just meant-” Killian lowered his damn sexy voice to just above a whisper- ”I think we should give it another go. A do-over.”

It took her a moment to process what he had said, her mouth gaping open in surprise.

“Excuse me? Are you joking?” Emma cried in a frantic whisper. “I’m not a carnival ride, Jones.”

He grinned briefly, mildly amused by her reaction. “Calm down love. I simply mean, may I take you to dinner? I feel as if I didn’t exactly present my best self to you the other night, and I certainly didn’t give my finest performance-”

Emma stared him dead in the eye, stopping him mid sentence. “I told you, I don’t date co-workers.”

_ Were they seriously having this conversation? Was he really suggesting what she thought he was? _

“Surely one date wouldn’t hurt?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow in a way that was simultaneously ridiculous and attractive.

“I beg to differ,” she replied grimly, grabbing the latest pile of fresh copies and adding them to the stack. A moment passed. The copier spat out another bundle of stapled papers.

“Alright,” he nodded.

Whipping around her head, she recoiled a little, “Alright?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “A gentleman knows when his advances are not desired. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Emma was about to reply when he took hold of her hand, placing a soft, sensual kiss against its back, before quietly slipping out of the room.

And that’s when she realized just how fast her heart was racing.

With his ego only a little bruised, Killian left the copy room and closed the door. 

So that hadn’t gone exactly to plan. Emma was clearly even more embarrassed about what had happened than he had anticipated. Lesson learned, he told himself as he walked back to his desk. 

Officer Swan was an enigma, it seemed. The way her eyes had widened at his suggestion and the panic in her eyes- Well, he didn’t take it personally. Instead, it intrigued him. He’d give her some space.

But he wasn’t giving up just yet.

_ Tuesday _

“So…”

Emma looked up over the rim of her coffee cup. Her partner, Graham, was giving her a rather large grin. And Graham Humbert didn’t grin.

“What?” Emma asked, raising her brows.

“Are you ever going to tell me what the hell happened with you and Jones last week, or am I just going to have to keep going with this wild speculation in my head-”

“Fuck,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

“Ah, so that bad then?”

“Nothing happened,” she lied. Quickly she averted his gaze and continued staring at the arrest report she was filling in.

“Yeah right.” Her partner chuckled softly, the pen he held in his hand rolling between his fingers as he watched her attentively.

“You’re awfully interested in my private life today,” she quipped in her best attempt to avoid his question.

He spun his desk chair to face her and she felt her cheeks burn. “Well, I’ve had a long weekend away from the precinct and apparently there was  _ a lot  _ of gossip to catch up on.”

Emma glared at her partner. 

“Like I said, nothing happened.”

“Okay,” he nodded, making to turn back to his own desk. Emma let out a sigh of relief. “But,” he continued, “That doesn’t explain why you keep looking over at Jones’ desk.”

“I do not!” 

She’d said that far too loud. She shrank down in her chair.

“Listen,” he began, “Jones is a decent guy. Nolan’s been working with him on a few cases and he speaks highly of him.”

“And?” Emma quipped.

“And,” he shrugged, “You could do worse.”

Another wave of heat rose up onto her face as she remembered how she had spoken to him the day before. 

“Well since i don’t plan on doing anyone in this department, I don’t suppose that matters.”

Graham shrugged, “Whatever you say, Swan.”

_ Wednesday _

Jones had been MIA from the precinct the rest of Tuesday most likely out on patrol, so it was Wednesday afternoon before she saw him again. 

Slyly, she let herself look at him as he arrived a little later than her, greeting his workmates and looking far too good in his uniform black. He had a nice smile. She remembered that from last weekend. When he’d made that bullseye and won the game of darts.

Actually, she was starting to have a lot of memories from that weekend. And not all unpleasant ones. His fresh cologne; clean and enticing and somehow still lingering on her laundered pillows. She remembered the feel of his skin with its surprising softness, most noticeable when she had awoke just before dawn as he was slipping out of her bed. If things had been different-

Maybe she had been too harsh the other day. They were both as equally drunk as the other was. He was probably feeling as crappy and embarrassed as she did.

God, this was why she avoided getting entangled with work colleagues.

It wasn’t until the end of her shift that she sucked up the courage to go and speak to him again. 

Killian gave her a curious smile as she approached. He was hunched over his desk, lamp on, completing some evidence paperwork.

“Hey Jones.”

“Swan,” he nodded. He placed his pen on the desk and looked at her expectantly.

“Looks fun-” she said, nodding to the pile of pictures in front of him.

“Not quite. Runaway teen. Her fifth time this year apparently.”

“Oh, yeah. I hate those cases.” Emma sighed and ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip. “Hey, um, I just wanted to say sorry about the way I snapped at you.”

“No apology necessary,” he insisted. 

He was being nice. Much nicer than she had been.

“Yeah there is. I’m not usually that abrupt… I just really do like to keep my private and work life separate.”  _ Not that I have much of a private life,  _ she thought.

“Understood. And I really meant no offense…” He scooted his chair a little closer to her. “I do feel awful about my… inebriated state the other night.”

“You and me both,” she admitted. He had nice eyes, she decided there and then. The afternoon light in the bullpen just enough to make them almost clear. “So… friends?”

“Aye,” he nodded, holding out his hand.

Shaking it, she gave him a shy smile. And ignored the little flutter in her belly from his touch.

_ Emma Swan. Emma Swan. Emma Swan… _

God, he couldn’t stop thinking about Emma Swan. It was distracting him from his current case. Teen runaway from a group foster home. Missing three days already… but, Emma Swan… and her green eyes and shy smiles and - god - those breasts he kept picturing in his mind and that mouth he remembered being so soft and sensual when they first kissed-

By some god-ordained coincidence, he’d spoken to David Nolan about the case and he had pointed him in the direction of Officer Swan and suggested she might be able to help, mentioning something about having ‘unique insight’. So he’d pinged her an IM first thing Thursday morning and arranged to meet her for coffee at Granny’s when she was back from patrol that lunchtime.

She was already occupying a booth and sipping from a signature ‘Granny’s’ cup by the time he made it over from the precinct, only a few minutes late.

“Hey,” he smiled as he ordered a cup of tea.

“You are very stereotypically English, you know?”

“Well, we are in the home of the infamous ‘Tea Party’, it seems apt.”

Emma laughed gently as he sat and his drink arrived. “So, you wanted my help?” she asked.

“Remember the case about the runaway?” She nodded. “Well she’s been gone over 72 hours now and we’ve had no leads. She’s fifteen. Her group home is getting pretty frantic and I’m out of ideas.”

“She’s a foster kid?”

“Aye.”

“I get why Nolan wanted you to talk to me.”

“Ah, so you-”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “Product of Maine’s finest foster care providers. I used to run away a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling all the hollowness of such a platitude in the circumstances. “My parents...left me at a young age, and I was mainly raised by my older brother.”

“Yeah, you grow up quick, right?”

He nodded and she felt herself soften a little bit more towards him.

“But she’s still a kid and the longer she is missing the more vulnerable she becomes. As safe as Boston is there are still some salacious sorts about.”

Emma hummed in agreement as she tapped her fingers against her mug. “Where was she found last time?”

“Hiding in a friend’s garage. We already checked there. I’m actually pretty worried she’ll be out of state by now.”

“I doubt it. Even if she’s pissed at the moment, she won’t want to leave everything she knows. This is probably all about self preservation right now, when you’re in foster care you don’t often have someone looking out for you. But food and shelter are necessities… She probably didn’t have much of a plan when she left, maybe only took a few things.”

Impressed, Killian sank back into the booth. “That’s right, just a backpack with a couple of items of clothing.”

“Okay. Then that’s actually a good sign. She was thinking on her feet and this was not premeditated.”

“Then what do you think I should do next?” he asked as the waitress place his tea in front of him.

“Have you spoken to any of the other kids at the house? She might have a place that she cares about - a park or something similar. I would also check empty properties in the area. Foster kids are usually smart. She could be holing up in an abandoned warehouse or storefront.”

He raised his brows at the suggestions. “I’ll get right on that. Thank you, Officer Swan.”

“Emma,” she smiled. “And it’s not big deal. We’re all here to help each other out, yeah?”

“Too right, love,” he nodded. 

With a smile he picked up his terribly English tea, feeling that they’d gone some way now to undoing last Thursday night’s damage.

_ Thursday Night, One Week Since… you know _

Netflix and chill for Emma Swan actually meant Netflix and a bowl of Ben and Jerry’s finest. Tonight she’d chosen Super Fudge Chunk and a gratuitous rewatch of Dirty Dancing.

By the time she was done with the ice cream, Baby and Johnny had danced at the  Sheldrake Hotel and inevitably had ended up in his room. Whilst she watched the two dance and sway and kiss and strip each others clothes off, a pang of want sparked in her chest. The misty memories of another’s naked body taunted her mind.

Emma hadn’t forgotten the way Killian looked bare of clothes. Or the way he kissed. Even inebriated, she recalled how he had taken her breath away with his lips and the soft burn of his scruff against her cheeks. Damn, even as sloppy and clumsy as the whole experience was, she couldn’t help but wonder that under different circumstances things could have been, well, different… And, hell, he did seem like a decent guy. Even she could admit that. And he was kinda sweet. And handsome. And, just, so different from the men she was usually attracted to (assholes with chiseled chins and egos the size of Manhattan-).

The regret had faded, the worst memories consigned to the deepest recesses of her mind, and just him and his stupid blue eyes and nice smile and what could have been, remained.

Over the years she’d spent so long looking inward and brushing off any chance of intimacy - barring those of the solely carnal kind - that this sensation was new and strange.  _ She still barely knew him. _ Yet regret still hung heavy- all those ‘what might have’ and ‘what could have beens’ running through her mind as Baby and Johnny made love on screen. It was a stark reminder of how long it had been since she had anything close to that.

She scoffed at her own fantasies as she glanced at the empty bowl of ice cream on the table beside her. Ice cream for one. A solo glass of wine. A romance movie to satisfy that part of her that she mostly kept hidden - because Emma Swan was not that sappy, girly girl looking for her Prince Charming? Was she?

Oh hell. Maybe she was. And maybe if her current fantasy had Prince Charming owning steely blue eyes and a British accent, who the hell would ever know.

It wasn’t like fantasies ever became reality.

_ Across town _

He’d only gone and bloody found the girl.

Just like Emma had suggested, she was hiding in a house that was being renovated, not five blocks from the group home. Armed with a list of possible properties, he and his partner had spent the afternoon and early evening checking each one. Finally, just before 7pm, they had hit paydirt. Huddled up in the attic space of a dusty blue tract house, there she was. A little tired and hungry, but otherwise in one piece.

He’d really thought it was a lost cause and he’d have to hand this over to Missing Persons.

Thank god he’d talked to Emma.

Just thinking of her name made him smile.

Back at his desk, he was filling out the last pieces of paperwork. It was his favorite part of police work - completing cases where he really felt he helped someone. He signed the last page just after nine pm.

Before he could think further, he pulled up the list of precinct contacts and punched a number into his phone.

“Hello?”

“Swan,” he smiled.

“Jones? Is there a problem at work? Do you need-”

He chuckled softly. Her reputation as a workaholic seemed well founded. “No, no problems Swan. Quite the opposite. I found her.”

There was a second of silence.

“The runaway?” she asked.

“Aye. In an empty house, just like you suggested.”

She sighed happily over the line. “That’s great. Really Killian. I’m really happy she’s safe.”

“All thanks to you.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed.

“No really,” he insisted, switching the phone to his other hand as his palm became damp with nervous sweat. “Without your… unique insight, I wouldn’t have thought to check empty properties. So thank you.”

“Then you’re welcome,” she replied softly.

Killian took a deep breath. “Look, I totally understand if you say no-”

“Okay…”

“But I’d like to say a proper thank you. Let me buy you a drink after work tomorrow. No strings. Just as friends.”

He felt like an idiot as soon as he had said it. Was he sounding desperate now? She’d made it clear before that nothing was going to happen. But he did like her. And he did want to thank her properly. If anything else came of it, so be it.

“Okay,” she replied.

Surprised, he squeaked, “Really?”

Her laugh was soft. “We’re friends, like you said. And I think we’re both adults and there’s no reason why we can’t… move on from, you know…”

She trailed off as he felt the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment.  “Aye, indeed. Great.”

_ The Black Rose, Friday, 8pm _

 

Emma chewed anxiously on her thumb as she stared at the door. Killian was running late, he’d already texted her (yeah, they were texting now…) just as she’d been walking through the door of the bar, so she had nothing to do but wait. The glass of wine she’d purchased had been barely touched. There was a nervous knot in her stomach that refused to dissipate.

The Black Rose Pub was not too far from Paddy O’s. She’d almost suggested there, until she thought better of it for obvious reasons. She’d taken a seat at the bar giving her a good view of the doorway.

“Is your drink okay?” the bartender asked her, shaking her from her thoughts.

“Oh, yeah,” she smiled briefly, just as the little bell above the door jingled. Whipping around her head, she saw it was him.

She sucked in a breath. 

Killian was wearing slim-fit jeans and a midnight-blue shirt - just blue enough to pop against the black leather of his crumpled biker jacket. Fuck, he was a handsome guy. It took him a second to see her, his face softening when he did. Her stomach did a little flip. (Again. He seemed to have that effect on her on a consistent basis.) 

“You look great,” he hummed as he approached her seat.

“Thanks,” she whispered. She’d chosen a cream, off the shoulder sweater and black cigarette pants ending in spiked black heels. Somewhat casual, but she knew she looked good too. Especially with her hair twisted in a chignon and exposing her long neck. “So do you,” she murmured, her voice just a little too low and sultry.  _ Way to make it obvious you’re attracted to him, Emma _ .

She licked her lips as Killian took the seat next to her and ordered a pint of English Ale. Heat seemed to roll off his body in waves, but that was probably merely her reaction to his closeness. He really had no right to be so attractive. It was very unfair.

Killian had ran the last couple of blocks. He’d gotten held up at work booking in an offender, but he wanted to shower and change before he met her. This may be drinks between friends, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t make an effort. 

And my, had she made an effort. 

Her skin glowed. Her exposed neck and decollete drew his eye and brought him back to flashes of last weekend in his mind’s eye. Hmm.

He was halfway through his pint by the time he’d filled her in on all the details of his runaway and once again thanked her. To which she blushed. For such a great cop, she was pretty modest.

“Did you always want to join the force?”

Emma shrugged. “No. Actually it was David Nolan who originally gave me the idea. I met him in college and I didn’t have any family and somehow he seemed to adopt me into his. Weird, I know,” she chuckled.

“He does seem the type.”

“Yeah. He wanted to be a police officer since he was a kid and I guess his enthusiasm just kinda grew on me.” She took a small sip of her wine and he took a moment to watch her. “You?”

“Kinda fell into it,” he admitted, “I did a tour in the navy, decided I didn’t want to go career, and the Met were recruiting, so…” He shrugged.

Tipping her glass against his, she said, “To random decisions.”

“To random decisions,” he echoed and they both drank.

She wasn’t drunk. She’d barely had half a glass. 

But she felt a flash of confidence as they traded tales of patrols gone bad and adjusting to life in Boston. (She found it pretty quiet, he missed English tea.) It was easy talking to him. She’d not had much chance to do that. So maybe he was a nice guy and maybe they had completely started off on the wrong foot - what with the drunken sex and all. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t improve the situation. Hell, they’d already gotten intimate once-

“Hey, you know, about what you said the other day.”

Killian raised an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. “About a do-over.”

“Oh.” He seemed momentarily taken aback. “Yes…”

Emma spun the stem of the wine glass between her fingertips, telling herself that  _ this wasn’t a really bad idea _ -

“Yeah well, maybe you were right…”

Killian was pretty sure he was hearing things. But he schooled his features, crumpling his brow.

“Really?”

Her laugh was sweet and made him blush. And then a film of tension formed as she fanned her fingers out over the bar between them.

“I might regret this,” she admitted. And damn if the way she chewed on her bottom lip wasn’t insanely hot.

“Well I hope you don’t,” he replied, voice low, his head dipping closer to hers.

“But you’ve already seen me naked once-”

“Aye,” he croaked.

“And, I think you’re kinda hot-”

“I know you’re gorgeous, love.”

She blushed deeply.

“But maybe we can take excessive alcohol out of the equation this time?”

He glanced at his pint before pushing it away.

“Good thinking.”

They shared a look.

He was pretty damn sure she would be able to hear his heart beating over the soft music of the bar.

“So what are we waiting for?” she asked.

Her rational self would say she was insane. _ She didn’t date coworkers.  _ (Or anyone lately, but that wasn’t the point.) Yet here she was. Taking a guy home. Sober. Before midnight.

They’d walked back to her place after finishing their drinks, hands brushing against each other as they fell into step. They hadn’t kissed or even touched properly since she had made the proposition. But damn she wanted to. Still that would make the whole situation more real which she wasn’t quite ready for. Plus she had this feeling that once they started it would be difficult for them to even make it back to her place-

(The electricity was crackling between them since they’d they’d rather hurriedly left the bar, his hand on her lower back.)

A few steps inside her apartment, she froze as he reached out, as if to kiss her. “Um, do you mind if I just-” she began, gesturing to her bedroom as he paused mid step. His face fell for a second until he nodded.

“Aye, of course.”

She smiled and whispered, “There’s beer in the fridge…” 

In her room, she closed the door with a soft clunk and sat on the bed. Her heart was racing. Butterflies were having a field day in her stomach. 

Slipping off her shoes, she tried to collect herself.

After he’d removed his coat, he’d taken a beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap and having one sip before placing it back down on the countertop.

Was she having second thoughts? She had been pretty quiet on the way back. Not that he had spoken much himself. He was too nervous. Worried he was going to screw this up by saying the wrong thing.

And now she’d been gone for too long.

“Emma?” he knocked on her door.

It opened a beat later.

Killian parted his lips to speak, but before he could her hands were reaching out to grab his shirt and pull him inside the room, their mouths meeting with a soft ‘umph’.

It took a second for him to react, remembering their last kisses and knowing already that this far surpassed that fading memory. He reached around her neck and threaded his hands through her hair so he could tug her tighter against him, as she simultaneously kicked the door closed.

She was pressed tightly against him, winding her arms around his neck as his other hand cupped her ass, squeezing a little until she moaned.

His heart was going a mile a minute as he backed her up against the dresser next to her door. Hands were everywhere. But softly, with purpose. Tracing up her back. Fingers sliding up his neck...

Emma giggled when his hands reached under her sweater. God her skin was so soft- 

Her laughter made him smile against her neck as he pressed kisses down her throat, his hands cupping her breasts, the earlier tension melting away into pure heat.

When she’d seen him in her doorway, her reservations had vanished. He looked so uncertain, his handsome features hesitant and open-

And now he was peeling off her sweater, his fingers trailing over her stomach and chest as she sighed softly, repaying the favor with the buttons of his shirt as he dropped the woollen garment to the floor.

It was so different than what she remembered of the last time… Slower, more deliberate, more finesse in their movements. She could feel everything without the cloak of alcohol. She felt naked even when still have dressed.

He kissed her again as she slid away his shirt, with eager, passionate kisses that made her toes curl; made her need more, but at the same time trying to savor it. Kissing was underrated she thought. 

They made out a while longer, lingering tongues and lips, gradually making their way to the bed, where he laid her out.

His eyes scanned over her, making her stomach flip with the lust she saw in his eyes. She knew she was looking at him with the exact same expression.

It didn’t take long for the rest of their clothes to fall away. Skin sliding against skin. Warm and comforting whilst at the same time scorchingly hot - every touch between them electric.

He’d made her come twice before she’d pulled him on top of her, needing him inside her. Needing to wash away the bad memory of their drunken fumble with a much more pleasant one.

_ And it was- _

It didn’t last a long time. They were both too wound up from all their foreplay. Both too eager to find a little release in each other-

But it was  _ nice _ and  _ satisfying  _ and  _ hot _ -

And she didn’t have to fake the cry of relief when she came a few seconds after he finally did.

They were snuggling.

Killian couldn’t believe it.

After a little pillow talk, he’d fallen asleep beside her. And now he’d woken, twilight streaming through her window. He was spooning her body, his arm around her waist.

He was still marvelling over the turn of events when she woke, stretching against him with a soft yawn. “What time is it?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Early,” he whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. “I should go…”

She took a deep breath. “You can stay. If you want, I mean-”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he replied, quicker than he’d intended to. He was doing a pretty awful job of playing it cool with Emma Swan. Not that he thought he needed to.

“Good,” smiled, tugging his arm tighter around her as she drifted back to sleep.

He woke again, a few hours later, stroking her hip absentmindedly. Then she’d began rocking back against him, a dreamy sigh on her lips that he captured in a kiss. 

Wordlessly they melted into an embrace before lazily making love as the sun slowly rose.

_ The following Monday morning _

Killian was staring at her from the other side of the bullpen. Ducking her head back behind the screen of her computer, Emma tried to suppress a grin… as her stomach did a little somersault. It had only been 12 hours since she had seen him. Kissed him. Been very, very naked with him.

The Friday non-date had turned into a Saturday dinner date and a Sunday stay-in-bed date. She’d already decided that was her favourite kind of Killian Jones date. That way she didn’t have to share him with anyone. And she was pretty sure he felt the same in that regard.

These thoughts danced in her head as her computer screen blurred before her eyes. That was until she was roused from her thoughts by the sound of a cup being placed on her desk. She looked up.

“I thought maybe you could use some caffeine,” Killian smiled down at her as he released the mug. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, looking up into his now familiar blue eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he admitted, lifting up his own ridiculous mug to show her. “But worth it,” he added, leaning a little closer into her space.

“Too tired for lunch at Granny’s?” she asked.

They’d spent most of the last 48 hours together. But she already wanted more.

“Sure,” he nodded, “As long as I’m buying.”

He gave her a wink and then sauntered back to his desk. Emma bit her lip as she watched him walk away, those tight pants giving her all kinds of salacious thoughts.

So she didn’t date co-workers. What good were rules if you didn’t break them occasionally?

** A/N: Thank you to the amazing Ztofan/Nickillian for all her help with this fic and being the person responsible for it actually being finished. **

** 1) I know nothing about police work. 2) This is the longest one shot I have ever written. And it took forever. About a months work her (I know...)  3) If you liked it, a review would be nice :) **


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